


the weight of sweetness

by mercutioes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Kitchen Sex, M/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Trans Male Character, just some really tender stuff here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 14:10:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20694854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutioes/pseuds/mercutioes
Summary: ashe cannot sleep.  dedue has the same idea.(the kitchen smells of plum and spice and familiarity)





	the weight of sweetness

**Author's Note:**

> it's my opinion that these boys should kiss....... also ashe is trans because i (a trans) say so, no flames don't like don't read yadda yadda
> 
> title from "the weight of sweetness" by li-young lee
> 
> thank u alix for the proofread

There’s not a single one of them that doesn’t have nightmares, but Ashe thanks the Goddess every time it happens that he’s the only one whose restless feet take him to the kitchens when he can’t sleep. Mercedes goes to the cathedral, Felix to the training grounds, Annette to the library, Ingrid to the stables, Dimitri… who knows where he goes. Sylvain stays in bed, he thinks.

He hadn’t been sure where Dedue went until tonight, as he stumbles bleary-eyed into the kitchens to find the aroma of morfis plum and spice already gently spiraling up from the stove.

“Oh! Sorry!” Ashe exclaims, barely avoiding running directly into the person responsible for the delicious smell. He looks up (and up) to find Dedue staring back at him. Ashe assumes he’d look surprised if he ever looked… well, anything.

“It is fine,” Dedue replies, taking a step back so Ashe isn’t craning his neck to make eye contact. “Are you… looking for something?”

“No I — I couldn’t sleep and sometimes I come down here to, you know.” He gestures around the kitchen. “Cook.” Dedue’s face softens marginally.

“As do I. I suppose we’ve simply missed each other until now.”

“Yeah, guess so.” Ashe peeks over into the pot. “What are you making? It smells _ amazing._”

“Sweet buns,” Dedue replies, and Ashe notices the already-formed rows of dough on sheets on the other counter. “There was dough left over from dinner and I thought I’d —”

“Yeah, but what’s in this filling?” Ashe interrupts. “It doesn’t smell like the stuff we usually use.”

Ashe peers up at Dedue, distracted for a moment by the way the moon filtering through the windows catches on his light hair. The corner of Dedue’s mouth lifts and it makes Ashe’s stomach warm.

“The professor managed to find more of the spices from home.” He picks up the wooden spoon, stirring the filling and sending another spicy-sweet puff of steam into the air. “It gives the morfis plum more depth.”

Ashe hops up on the counter next to the stove, content for now to watch Dedue work in relative quiet as the filling bubbles gently. He realizes that he’s never really seen Dedue out of his battle gear or his formal attire, always armored and ready to defend. Here, he’s dressed simply in long, loose pants that look soft with wear; a tunic that clings to his arms, rolled up to avoid getting dirty; sandals instead of boots.

The most significant change is a scarf that Ashe has never seen, clearly well-worn and old, draped about Dedue’s broad shoulders. The pattern isn’t from Faerghus, certainly, and Ashe can only assume it’s from Duscur. On impulse, he reaches out to feel at a corner of the fabric. Dedue startles, eyes flicking up to meet Ashe’s own.

“Sorry!” Ashe exclaims automatically. “Sorry, I — it just looked so soft. Is it from Duscur?”

It takes a moment for Dedue to respond, his gaze going back to the pot.

“Yes,” he replies, taking the filling off the burner to cool on a trivet next to the stove. “It belonged to my sister.”

“It’s beautiful,” Ashe says, though he feels, as he always does in these moments, like the words aren’t nearly enough.

“Thank you,” Dedue murmurs with a finality that Ashe has come to recognize as the end of the conversation. There’s another long silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. Finally, he continues, “I find it easier to think, here. When it’s quiet.”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean to intrude! I can leave if you want!” Ashe makes to hop down from the counter, but Dedue steps in and stops him with his mere proximity. Ashe’s breath stutters in his chest. He doesn’t have to crane his neck as far like this, though Dedue is still far taller.

“That is not what I meant, Ashe,” Dedue says with an undercurrent of frustration, as if the words won’t cooperate with him, twisting out of his control. “You… I enjoy your company just as much as the quiet. You, too, make it easier to think.”

“Oh.”

Honestly, Ashe absolutely cannot be blamed for kissing Dedue right then and there, not when he’s being so sweet.

Dedue makes a surprised noise against his lips — if Ashe’s eyes weren’t pressed shut, he suspects that Dedue’s might be wide open in shock. He panics for a moment that he’s ruined everything, but suddenly Dedue melts against him, big hands coming up to gently cup Ashe’s shoulders. His lips are _ so _soft and Ashe would be self-conscious about his own chapped lips if he weren’t so distracted by the way Dedue steps even closer and Ashe has to spread his legs to accommodate him.

They break apart, panting, eyes wide and searching in the pale moonlight.

“Ashe, I—” Dedue starts, worry showing on his otherwise stoic face. Ashe wants to smooth that worry away.

“Hey, c’mon,” Ashe says, reaching up tentatively to cup Dedue’s cheek, giving him an encouraging smile. “I want to! As— as long as you do, too, of course.”

“Yes,” Dedue says, and it’s more breath than word, like the admission is struggle and relief in one.

“Well, good.”

“Good.”

Another long moment passes wherein they simply stare at each other until Ashe starts laughing, and then Dedue laughs too, and the sight is so unfamiliar and gorgeous that Ashe can’t help but kiss him again.

Which turns into Ashe’s legs wrapped around Dedue’s waist, ankles crossed at the small of his back (though his legs barely reach all the way around, which is making him feel all kinds of things in the pit of his stomach) and his spine arched slightly with the way Dedue is pressing forward. Even despite their positions, Ashe finds himself leading the kiss, Dedue naturally falling into step with him, Ashe’s hands on his jaw and in his hair. Maybe it’s the difference in their experience — Ashe has fooled around a few times before, but he can’t imagine Dedue doing much of the same.

Ashe tightens his legs to pull Dedue closer and Dedue lets out this little sound that makes Ashe’s brain go completely blank. He wriggles again, trying to get him to repeat it, answering with a whine of his own when it makes Dedue’s hands tighten on his upper arms to the point of aching.

“_Goddess_,” Ashe pants, breaking away, “is this— I mean, can I…?”

“Yes.” Ashe crumples under another pulse of arousal at the wrecked gravel in his voice, gasping when Dedue kisses down the side of his neck.

“You, _ oh_, you didn’t even hear what I was going to ask,” Ashe laughs. Dedue lets out a low growl, sucking a bruise into Ashe’s collarbone. Thank the Goddess for the high collars of their armor.

“Whatever you want,” Dedue whispers, and that’s maybe the hottest thing Ashe has ever heard in his whole life.

“Goddess,” Ashe repeats, eyes squeezed shut. “I want to get my m-mouth on you, if that’s okay?”

Dedue freezes, lips pressed to the hollow of Ashe’s throat. Ashe worries for a second that he’s been too forward, that Dedue will realize he’s made a mistake and flee, but his fears are assuaged when Dedue kisses him again like a man starving. Ashe can’t help but giggle against his lips, giddy with the whole situation, never suspecting he’d ever be _ allowed _ this.

“Here, let me,” he manages between kisses, trying his best to squirm off of the counter to switch their positions. Dedue leans back against the counter, a faint blush on his cheeks, barely visible under his dark skin in the dim light. Ashe considers — with Dedue standing, Ashe will be too short if he kneels but bent over awkwardly if he stays on his feet.

Luckily, there’s a wooden bench near the counter that Ashe leads him to, the perfect height that Ashe can kneel and smile up at him, the warmth of arousal enough that he can ignore the cold stone digging into his knees.

“Is this okay?” Ashe asks again, reaching forward to push Dedue’s tunic up and run his hands over his chest and stomach, firm muscle with a layer of fat, soft and warm and solid. Dedue huffs a breath and nods, eyes glinting and lips parted, still shiny and swollen from kissing. Ashe can barely believe this is happening.

Ashe gently pulls Dedue’s arousal out of his pants, flushed swollen and hard (because of _ Ashe_, oh, Goddess, _ he _ did that). Ashe’s mouth waters at the size of him, intimidating and exciting both. Dedue covers the lower half of his face with one hand when Ashe gives him an experimental lick, pulling back the foreskin and taking the head into his mouth before pressing wet kisses down the length. It’s messy, but neither of them seem to mind. Ashe has no idea if he’s doing this right so he keeps his eyes trained on Dedue’s face for any sign of pleasure.

“_Gods_, Ashe,” Dedue sighs, trailing into a rumbling groan. He looks like he can’t decide whether to screw his eyes shut or keep looking for as long as possible. Ashe takes more into his mouth, slow and steady, wondering at what he looks like with his lips stretched wide and cheeks hollowed and flushed. He pushes further, far enough that he chokes just a little and has to pull back to cough. Dedue leans forward immediately, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Are you alright—?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Ashe smiles as Dedue cups his face in his hands. “Just went too fast.” Dedue kisses him, heedless of the fact that Ashe must taste of his own seed and _ that’s _ a thought that sends heat curling in Ashe’s belly, makes him press his thighs together. He’s practically gasping when they part. “Can I keep going?”

Dedue leans back with half-lidded eyes and nods. His hands leave Ashe’s face, clenching into fists by his sides. Ashe scoots forward on his knees again, considering.

“You, ah… put your hands in my hair? Please?” Dedue’s eyebrows raise slightly, but he gently threads his fingers through Ashe’s hair — delicate, like he’s handling spun glass. Ashe smiles encouragingly, savoring the warmth and pressure as he leans in again.

Ashe finds his rhythm quicker this time, taking as much as he can in his mouth and working what he can’t with his hands, spit running down his chin and turning them both slick and messy. Every time Dedue’s hand clenches in his hair, every time his cock twitches against his tongue, with every tiny sound Ashe coaxes from his chest, the heat between Ashe’s legs grows more insistent. He’s sure he’s soaked through his clothes by now but it’s surprisingly easy to ignore, all his focus on the task in front of him, mind clearing the way it does when he lines up a far shot.

“I’m,” Dedue grits out, covering his face again, eyes screwed shut, “I’m close, Ashe—”

Ashe hums, pulling off and licking instead, letting his hands bring Dedue to his peak. The low groan it wrenches from him makes Ashe squirm — it’s the most vocal Dedue’s been with him and it’s _ gorgeous_, it leaves Ashe in disbelief that he could be responsible for making Dedue feel like this. Some of his spend lands on Ashe’s face, his mouth, most of it dripping over his fingers and wrist.

“Wow,” he whispers, almost afraid that if he speaks too loudly, he’ll wake up and Dedue will be gone. The corners of Dedue’s mouth curl up and it makes Ashe grin wider until he’s laughing, face buried in Dedue’s leg, feeling the vibrations of Dedue’s chuckle as he pets through Ashe’s hair.

“You were wonderful,” Dedue says, and Ashe shivers bodily, arousal pulsing and reminding him insistently of its presence, the warmth of Dedue’s hand on the back of his neck suddenly prickling hot.

“Thank you,” Ashe squeaks back, and he’s certain Dedue notices the way his hips shift. The squeak turns into a yelp as Dedue leans forward and lifts him (_lifts him!) _ onto his lap, forcing Ashe’s legs to spread to accommodate the width of his thighs.

“I’d like to take care of you,” Dedue says, simply, and all the breath in Ashe’s lungs leaves in a rush.

“Yeah, yes, of course,” he babbles, “just, I don’t know what you’re expecting, exactly, but —”

“Ashe.” Dedue squeezes his hip. Ashe quiets, bottom lip clenched tight between his teeth as he clings to Dedue’s shirt. Slowly, so slowly, Dedue slips his hand between Ashe’s thighs, feeling at the heat that’s seeped through even two layers of clothing. He can’t contain his whimper at being touched after ignoring his need for so long, and Dedue’s being so _ gentle… _

“Can I—” he asks, and Ashe nods fervently, desperate to let Dedue touch him properly. He lifts himself up enough to wriggle his pants off, grateful that neither of them are in anything more than their nightclothes. He’d be embarrassed by how wet he is if he weren’t so eager, slick down his thighs.

“Oh, _ fuck_,” he sighs when Dedue finally touches his cock, the pads of his fingers rough and axe-calloused. Dedue chuckles, and Ashe flushes with the realization that it’s the first time he’s cursed all night. He wants to respond but Dedue probes further, back around his entrance, and it’s all Ashe can do not to crumple right there. He buries his face in Dedue’s neck. “Goddess, your fingers…”

“Do you want me to,” and Ashe can feel him swallow, “to enter you?”

Ashe suddenly wonders what roughness would sound like in Dedue’s voice, to hear him say, _ “I’ll fuck you” _ in those low tones. The idea makes him shudder, and he nods, gasps out a yes.

Dedue’s fingers are wide and even one is a stretch, especially since none of them have exactly had a lot of time to themselves with the war on. Ashe bears down, little noises escaping him with every movement. Dedue takes direction so well, faster or slower or harder with each shift of Ashe’s hips.

“Another, you can add another,” Ashe gasps out after a while, so slick that he can barely feel it when Dedue slips out of him. The stretch turns into a burn with two and he throws his head back, a groan tearing its way out of his throat. Far too loud, but he doesn’t have the capacity to worry about anyone overhearing.

“You’re beautiful,” Dedue breathes, and Goddess, if _ that _doesn’t do something to Ashe’s insides. He clenches hard, moves faster, sneaks his own hand down between them and rubs his cock between two fingers the way he likes best.

“I’m close, I’m so, ah, _ Dedue —” _

He kisses Ashe’s neck as he comes down, lips as gentle as his fingers. Ashe takes a bit to stop trembling and clinging, face buried in Dedue’s hair. He lets out a shaky laugh, pressing his lips to the short, prickly hair on the side of his head, then down his cheek to his mouth where he lingers until they’re both out of breath again.

“Wow,” Ashe murmurs, giddy and boneless. Dedue’s answering smile is small and warm.

“Wow,” he echoes, and it sounds so funny in his voice that Ashe breaks down in giggles, settling more comfortably in his lap, pulling back further to look at him properly. He cups Dedue’s face, running his thumbs over his cheekbones. Giving him ample time to object, he pulls Dedue’s hair out of its ponytail and combs his hands through it, fondness squeezing hard in his chest when Dedue’s eyes fall shut.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Ashe whispers. Dedue hums, hands firm and warm and comfortingly weighty on Ashe’s hips.

“I never thought I’d get the chance.” Dedue’s eyes remain shut as he speaks. “Not for any of this.”

Ashe falls quiet, content for the time being to run his fingers through the silver of Dedue’s hair and feel the rise and fall of his breath, the warmth of his palms seeping into Ashe’s skin, the sheer solidity of him.

“The filling will be cooled by now,” Dedue says, finally, and Ashe realizes he’s dozed off for a moment, coming to with Dedue’s hand stroking down his spine. He laughs a little, stretching his arms above his head and wincing at the way his spine cracks.

“I’ll help,” he replies, hopping off Dedue’s lap and pulling his pants back on. “If we both fill the buns, they’ll be done quicker and we can bake them in the morning.”

“I believe it’s already morning,” Dedue shoots back, straightening his own clothing. Ashe smiles to see that he keeps his hair down, silvery strands falling to the sides and over his face in a way that softens him in the moonlight.

“We can still get some sleep before the early kitchen shift if we work fast!” he says cheerfully, hoping his bustling to find the piping bags will hide the way he’s still just a _ tad _ unsteady on his feet from earlier.

They’re lucky the professor’s scheduled a rest day, though, because piping the filling into the sweet buns turns into Dedue’s fingers in Ashe’s mouth and the both of them getting distracted all over again until sunlight filters in through the windows.

The early risers of their number filter into the mess hall that morning to find a platter of sweet buns already sitting out on the counter, slightly-spiced and delicious. For their part, Ashe and Dedue don’t rise from Ashe’s bed until the cathedral bell strikes noon.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter @lanceofscrewin!


End file.
